Hermione Granger and the Confidential Source
by Andromeda797
Summary: Hermione had no choice with respect to returning to Malfoy Manor, but that mishap with the dark artefact which released that demon... yeah, that was her bad. Now she must pair up with Draco to defeat the evil she has accidentally unleashed on the world. Ten years post-Battle of Hogwarts, dramione, angst at start then fluff/fun begins, totally out of canon.
1. Chapter 1

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming them as my own.

* * *

Hermione paced outside the meeting room, nervous. _This is going to be my big break_ , she reassured herself, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. She'd spent eight years working for the Daily Prophet - from an internship to junior editor in five years, she'd excelled at her craft and proven her worth. She was certain that her boss, Kingsley Shacklebolt, would recognise this and select her as his replacement.

Her colleagues slowly began to trickle in from adjacent offices and corridors and she forced herself to look composed. Kingsley was the last to arrive, swooshing down the corridor in his favourite navy and gold robes. He extracted the key from a pocket and the click of it in the lock made her pulse race. _This will be the day my life changes_. Perhaps, finally, things might work out for her.

When Hermione had been at school, she had dreamt of becoming an auror. Her fantasies always portrayed herself as the hero, saving the innocent from some unknown evil. _Pah._ That girl hadn't known evil. She hadn't seen it up close, hadn't smelt the scent of death on her friends, hadn't understood the casualties of war. So many young lives just snuffed out. Gone. Forever.

The Battle of Hogwarts had hardened many of its survivors. Harry and Ginny were a testament to that, supporting one another through the trauma and remaining a couple. Hermione hadn't been so lucky; the fall-out from the Battle had destroyed her relationship with Ron. He had tried to move on from the death of his brother, but how could he, when Hermione would relive their friends' deaths every night? Ron wanted to forget that anything had happened and he couldn't do it with her. The last Hermione had heard, he was living in Fiji with a tall, platinum-haired Danish man. It had come as a surprise to most, but with hindsight, it wasn't so surprising to Hermione.

Still, the internship at the paper had been a sort of panacea for Hermione's soul. It had given her purpose again, letting her regress back to a time of near-innocence, when she'd been the head editor on the Hogwarts student newspaper, the _Wizarding Student Times_. With the Daily Prophet as a constant in her life, she'd managed to subdue most of her trauma from the Battle. She'd reached some semblance of normality.

Hermione followed her colleagues into the meeting room and took her usual seat near the head of the table. The room itself was fairly standard and wouldn't have been out of place in a muggle office, were it not for the QuickQuotes Quill which floated in one corner, taking minutes. Ben Sharp, an auburn-haired wizard who Hermione had often worked closely with, leant forward in his chair to reassure her. 'I think a congratulations are in order,' he whispered. She bit her lip, trying to remain modest.

'Nothing's for sure,' she whispered back.

Kingsley held up his hands to silence any lingering conversation. He beamed at them all.

'I know you're all aware of the new position opening up, and I'm sure are looking forward to stabbing me in the back for your inheritance,' he said, joking. 'We will be filling the position internally.' Sandra from Accounting glanced across the table and shot Hermione a knowing look. She found herself smiling in return, despite her wish not to jinx the promotion. 'I want all of you to do your best work on the anniversary edition. If you stand out, I'll consider you.' Hermione's face fell. She had been certain that it would automatically go to her.

'Now, our special edition. I'm sure you're all aware that we're fast approaching the tenth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts,' he continued, rubbing his hands together. Hermione felt the horror bubbling up inside her, the barriers she'd put in place to suppress her past being breached so effortlessly. She tried her best to ignore the memories which threatened to come flooding back.

'... which is why I'm handing that task to you, Hermione.' She started at hearing her name. Kingsley was completely oblivious to her inner turmoil. 'You should be able to provide true insight to the impact,' he continued, 'and I'm sure will relish the challenge of writing from the other side.' He turned his gaze to Ben. 'You can focus on the supposed victors of the battle, Sharp. I want you to try and get some quotes from Harry, if you can.' He then turned his eyes onto a witch further away, with pink hair. 'Melinda, you'll have the muggle angle. Make sure you play up their ignorance of true events.'

Kingsley continued to speak, doling out smaller articles to her remaining colleagues. She hadn't understood what she'd been assigned... but she knew she didn't want it. She didn't want to go back there.

After the meeting had been called to a close, Hermione lingered behind. 'Kinglsey,' she asked nervously, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. 'I don't quite understand why you've given me this.' He began packing his notes into a leather satchel.

'It would be quite difficult for anyone else to get away with the story. Who could ever have any sympathy for the ex-death eaters?' She recoiled internally, suddenly realising what he expected her to do. 'If you write it,' he turned to face her. 'People might actually listen. I want people to see how their families have had to adjust, the people they lost.'

He wanted her to revisit her past by talking to the people who tried to kill her. How could she look evil in the eyes and report its words? _How could he ask me to do this?_ Kingsley smiled at her, ready to quash any protests.

'I know you're more than equal to the task, Hermione. You need to have some faith in yourself.'

'But...'

'Don't you think it would be a wonderful way to stand out to head office, and maybe be promoted to head editor on the paper?'

 _So that's it. It's this or my job._

'It would be a brilliant way to stick your foot in the door, humanising people that the public love to hate.' He picked up his bag. 'I've already had one of the runners send out enquiries. It's slim pickings,' he shrugged, 'but one person was particularly interested in being interviewed. Their letter is on your desk.' Kingsley left her.

She walked back to her office in a daze, feeling emotionally numb. What choice did she have? If she didn't take this opportunity her career would falter. She'd probably lose her position as junior editor within the year, in the guise of promoting fresh talent. Everything she'd worked for.

Just as Kingsley had said, a cream envelope was waiting for her on her desk. Hermione sat down, her hands shaking. She picked up a silver letter opener and then reached for the thick card, turning it over in her hands to expose the wax seal.

The letter opener dropped to the floor with a clang.

 _Return Address: D. Malfoy, Malfoy Manor_

* * *

Author's Note: This is technically the third in a trilogy, although if you haven't read the two previous stories, you'll probably be fine. If you want to catch up, check out Hermione Granger and the Surprise Editor, and Hermione Granger and the Yule Review. To those of you who've been following, this story might take a little while to get going as there's a lot of backstory to chuck in, but hopefully you'll enjoy it.


	2. Chapter 2

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming ownership.

* * *

Hermione stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, confronting the terrified young girl that looked back at her, her hands gripping the counter. She hadn't felt so on-edge since the first months after the Battle, when her anxiety had been crippling. The letter had been thrown unceremoniously into the bin and putting on a façade of cool she had left her office and sought refuge in the empty women's bathroom.

Hermione stared into her own eyes accusingly. She wanted to feel something - anything - about her situation. Instead, she found only numbness.

Shouldn't she be terrified at having to come face-to-face with Draco once more? The last time she had been at Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix Lestrange had been torturing her. The visit had culminated in the death of her friend, Dobby. Returning to the house did instil some fear, but Draco... she tried to feel repulsed, tried to force some kind of negative emotion about meeting him once more. He'd betrayed them all, he was a traitor; she'd hated him in sixth year when she found out what he'd been up to. Yet the passage of time had softened her memories of him, emphasising the few good moments she remembered. Her mind's eye flitted back to that brief time in fourth year, where she had often fantasised about a relationship with him. All those silly misadventures they'd found themselves in, each mishap throwing him into her arms.

She'd thought that the heartbreak from her teenage years had long healed, yet here she was, her heart aching so hard it felt like her chest was being ripped open. It was as if she were under the influence of a magnetic pull, her south drawn to Draco's north.

 _I haven't thought about him in years_ , she tried to reason with herself. _I don't even know him any more._ Could she really still want him, or was it just the memory of him she longed for?

The door to the shared bathroom opened and Sandra from Accounting entered. Hermione shot her a death-glare and the young witch retreated, leaving her alone. Hermione took a deep breath and then leant forward, cupping her hands into the sink to catch a handful of water. She splashed her face, trying to bring herself back to reality.

 _What if this is all business? What if he's no longer the boy I used to know?_

Malfoy had certainly stabbed them all in the back. When it had turned to defeat he had simply walked away from Hogwarts with his mother, away from the destruction he was partially responsible for.

The mirror in front of her cracked, making Hermione start. She reached out to run a finger along the fracture, which with her positioning, split her face into two halves.

 _Once upon a time..._ she thought to herself wistfully. Once upon a time, Draco had been her true heart's desire. Once upon a time, he'd had feelings for her. _But that was a long time ago._ She shook her head. _I've grown up since then. I'm no longer a fool for the bad boy._

Hermione reached into her trouser pocket for her wand, thinking through the correct counter-spell to rectify the damage she had inflicted on the mirror.

She pulled her hair up into a messy bun, moving a few strands from her face, then prepared her expression. If Malfoy had wanted to see her, then he would.

* * *

Draco felt a kind of rush at the news, his elves rushing around in a frenzy to prepare the manor for its visitor. The place had fallen into disrepair under his ownership. He had received his inheritance earlier than most, with the divorce of his parents sending his mother to Romania and his father to the bottle. Lucius Malfoy had been dead and gone for nine years now, his body rotting in the Malfoy tomb which lay at the bottom of the manor gardens.

He tried to ignore the bustle of cleaning creatures and instead stared into the flames of the adjacent hearth. He swirled a glass of brandy in one hand, while the other ran along the leather of his chair.

Now that he was older and more mature, he'd had time to reflect on his life. It had been an unhappy one. The death of his father had pushed him deeper into his relationship with Pansy, but he knew now that it was a relationship of convenience, never of love. If he had loved her, wouldn't he have felt pain at her affair with Blaise? Perhaps Pansy had done it for the attention, trying to spur her partner into a display of feeling, but it had failed. Malfoy had felt nothing. Their divorce had been finalised within months of her infidelity, leaving Malfoy alone in his ancestral home.

At least he had kept himself occupied, returning to an old passion from his more innocent days. Under a nom de plume, Draco had published several novels. Critics often said his work was formulaic, with a consistent heroine simply under a new name in each release. He knew they were right. He'd only met one true heroine in his life, his muse in all his works of fiction, and they'd been separated for far too long.


	3. Chapter 3

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming them as my own.

* * *

They had been unable to apparate directly into the grounds of the Manor, so had no choice but to take the 11:30am train from St. Pancras. Four hours later they had disembarked at the nearest stop to Malfoy Manor, a ramshackle collection of medieval cottages surrounding an abandoned village green. Susan Bones, her hired photographer for the visit, had pointed out the Manor in the distance, halfway up the valley. From their current position it was merely a grey blot against the hillside.

With it being a magical village, there were no bus or taxi services, and nor was the Manor reachable by such crude muggle transport. Instead the pair had been forced to walk across half a dozen fields. Hermione paused, letting Susan tackle the style first. The former Hufflepuff had no difficulties in climbing over the fence, as she'd come dressed in practical all-weather gear. Hermione had not. She struggled after the witch, hoiking her pencil skirt up above her knees to get enough manoeuvrability. She managed to get one foot over the fence, but the other stumbled against the wood and caused her to tumble. Susan caught her instinctively, stabilising her precarious position, then helping her down to the ground. Hermione's shoes sunk at least an inch into the mud, staining the patent leather and the toes of her stockings. She let out a sound of displeasure and Susan smiled at her in a motherly way.

'We're nearly there, Hermione, and just wait,' she glanced upwards, through the small wooded area they still needed to traverse to reach the Manor boundary. 'Two hours and we'll be back in the village pub. The owner looked pretty hot,' she glanced back and waggled her eyebrows up and down, insinuating. Hermione's mood lightened and she laughed.

The woods were a little easier travel through, although Hermione did manage to get her hair caught in several branches. On one of the occasions, Susan had been required to help disentangle, and with her release had grimaced at the state of Hermione's hair. She moved her own hands up to probe what had originally been a neat but assertive bun. From Susan's expression, it now looked like she'd been dragged backwards through a hedge. Hermione sighed, but continued on, the boundary wall now visible through the trees.

Hermione felt like her heart solidified with every step she took, as if lead were being pumped around her veins. Now that the visit had been confirmed and the house was in sight, she began to have her doubts. Since breakfast she had felt a confusing mixture of excitement and anxiety. Excitement at seeing his face again, seeing the man who developed from the boy she loved. Her anxiety was for exactly the same reason - she was terrified about seeing him, scared of her own reaction and scared of his. Her stomach grumbled under her blouse and her hand moved up below her ribs to put pressure on the area. How she wished she had forced herself to eat something on the train.

Susan stopped at the main gate and surveyed the grounds through the iron bars. Hermione's step faltered and she also found herself examining the home of her torment. A gravel path lead up to the main house, winding between misshapen topiary bushes. Some of the topiary had overgrown enough to lean over the path in an ominous manner, as if they were reaching out to grab her. A small lake with a central fountain was just visible to one side of the house, but the fountain wasn't switched on. Hermione could see no flowers. It looked as if the Manor had once been great but had been long abandoned to time and nature.

She forced her gaze up to the actual house, expecting a flashback to her first visit. Her eyes roamed the grey stone which had been stained centuries ago with coal dust, a foreboding façade which was as equally unwelcoming as the grounds. Clearly, the structure had been untouched for the last few decades, but Hermione felt no recognition. Fear must have tainted her view, preventing her from noticing her surroundings. On that night, long ago, she had been terrified of what Fenrir would do to her, terrified of what might happen to Harry and Ron.

'What do we do?' Susan asked, readjusting the straps of her camera bag. Hermione snapped from her thoughts and bit her lip, hoping that the gates would be locked and they'd have no choice but to return to the warm, safe village. Her hand reached out, fingers barely brushing the cold iron before the gates swung open of their own accord, welcoming the visitors to the Manor.

The pair walked briskly up the path, painfully aware that the temperature had begun to drop as dusk settled. Hermione had the opportunity to inspect the lake closer, noting the algae-covered merman statue which sat in its centre. The trident was held up defiantly, but the statue had the air of defeat in its carving. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Was everything in Malfoy's world so depressing?

Susan didn't glance back at her as they reached the entrance. She bashed her fist against the oaken doors with force, hoping that anyone in the house might hear them. The wind had begun to pick up around them and Hermione felt the first caresses of rain against her skin.

* * *

Author's note: is hoik slang? It's a word given to the act of pulling something up with force/effort/determination.


	4. Chapter 4

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming them as my own.

* * *

 _Perhaps it's not too late to run_ , Hermione thought quickly to herself, as the sound of the door being unlocked cracked through the silence. _Just say something else came up and you have to come back another time._ She glanced behind her at the grounds, which were growing increasingly gloomy. There was a definite chill in the air, with the light fading unusually fast due to the surrounding topography. It felt like the local forests and hills were swallowing up the sun, plunging her into a personal darkness. Her pulse began to race and she felt her throat closing up.

Susan was completely oblivious to Hermione's panic and instead hopped from foot to foot, trying to keep warm whilst the numerous locks on the door were undone from the other side.

 _Oh god, what will I say?_ Hermione thought, picturing a handsome and respectable Draco opening the door to them.

Her worry, at least on that count, appeared to be unfounded. The door opened, revealing a small stone porch. Sconces with bewitched candles flickered on the walls, casting strange shadows on the stone. No man had opened the door and Hermione was temporarily confused, until she looked down. An elderly house-elf, clad in a dark green waistcoat, bowed before them.

'You are welcome to this house,' he said obligingly. His voice sounded like the creak of aging wood, hinting at his age and the term of his servitude.

Hermione seethed. How dare _he_ not be there. _All the hassle I've gone through to get to the arse-end of nowhere and..._ her internal rant was cut-off, as a pale figure appeared from behind the elf. Draco was dressed in dark blue jeans and a fitted bottle-green shirt. He stared at her, a neutral expression changing to one of incredulity. It was as if time stood still for those few seconds, the pair of teenage lovers standing opposite one another. She felt her pulse begin to slow, something reassuring and familiar in that look.

The spell was quickly broken: Susan didn't wait for any welcome from the host and crossed the threshold, grabbing Hermione's wrist to pull her into the porch. The elf shut the large door, cutting off the cold breeze from outside. Susan let out a squeal of relief.

'Thank god, it's freezing out there,' she said, shivering as she acclimatised to the house temperature.

Draco barely glanced at Susan, his eyes still fixed squarely on Hermione. She tried to stop herself from blushing at the intensity of his gaze. Did this answer her question? Was it a look of lust, or longing?

'What on earth happened to you?' Draco asked, gesturing to her mud-splattered skirt and stained shoes. Hermione scowled.

'We had to trek for two miles to get here.' Clearly, it had been a look of disgust.

'I sent Mibby to the station to collect you,' he folded his arms, 'I'd arranged transport from the station, but your train got here early. I guess you two were eager to get this over with.'

'Nothing like a country walk,' Susan replied, trying to allay Hermione's annoyance. She was largely unaware of their previous relationship and was worried about the impression Hermione was making on her client.

Draco was unconvinced and found himself already vexed by Hermione's presence. _It's not my fault you didn't take the carriage I'd arranged,_ he thought bitterly.

He wasn't quite sure how he'd expected their first encounter to go down, and while Hermione's annoyed expression was a familiar blast from his past, it hadn't been what he was hoping for. Draco frowned, his thoughts shifting to doubt. She clearly wasn't happy to see him. Perhaps he shouldn't have meddled in her affairs... after all, he knew that the enquiry into his well-being was really from Kingsley and not her. He just wanted a good interview for his paper. Draco had had no reason to oblige with Kingsley's desires; he'd lived his life in the shadows for the past ten years and was resigned to stay there. It was only the pull of seeing Hermione again that had made him agree to put himself in the limelight.

Hermione kicked off her shoes and bent down to peel off her stockings, dropping them into a neat pile on the porch. It was a relief to be free of the clinging, wet nylon. The look on Draco's face as she straightened was almost priceless and she wondered whether she'd broken visitor etiquette. Maybe her removal of the underclothes was historically akin to giving him the finger. _Good_ , she thought to herself proudly.

'Um...' he was slightly lost for words, struggling to keep his eyes from Hermione's bare legs. Now that she had drawn his attention to the form-fitting pencil skirt, it was all he could think about. 'I've arranged for dinner. I thought you might be hungry.' He gestured to the main corridor and Susan happily obliged, almost running through the house. Draco found himself trailing behind the eager witch, while a despondent Hermione followed after him. Hermione winced at the touch of cold stone on her feet and he heard her muttering under her breath. He glanced back at her enquiringly.

She narrowed her eyes. 'I see you still have house elves,'

'Many are from families which have lived here as long as the Malfoys,' he explained, pushing his hands in his pockets. _So_ , he thought to himself, _she's determined to be in a mood with me_. Perhaps he should have left her in London and continued his solitary existence, but he wasn't prepared to give up the fight just yet. 'They get paid for the time, if they want to be, and they can take holidays.'

'Do they?' Hermione asked, unimpressed. Draco frowned and shook his head. She did have him there. 'Hmph.'

He turned his gaze back to the front and scowled at Susan's back. She found the dining room easy enough, it being the main room of the house, enclosed within the original structure. The old house had been knocked into one, providing a double-storied room which contained two hearths and a large dining room table. Church-like windows ran along one side but provided little light. The table was already set, glittering silverware marking out three places, with pale blue candles acting as a centre-piece. The room was bare, but as Draco had seen as a child at his mother's parties, no amount of decoration could change it.

Susan really was eager, dropping her bag by the side of a chair and sitting down. _At least someone's enjoying themselves_ , Draco thought wistfully. He paused, waiting for Hermione to move past him and claim her own place, but she was not forthcoming.

Hermione had paused in the doorway, recognising the room. Her eyes were focused on the spot where she had once lay, being subjected to the cruciatus curse. She'd undergone pain unlike anything she had felt before, or had come since. Her fists began to ball up and she began to hyperventilate, unable to look away. Her chest was constricted, as if a phantom Bellatrix was once again straddling her, carving into her arm with that knife.

Draco was worried by Hermione's expression and watched as she began to tense up and pale. He quickly moved towards her, his hands moving out to cup her face, a familiarity stretching through their history and back to a time where she would have allowed the gesture. He turned her face away from the floor and to his eyes, even as she resisted. 'Hermione, look at me,' he insisted. The brown eyes locked onto his and her breathing began to stabilise. He slowly realised why she was so affected. 'We won't eat in here,' he called back over his shoulder, for the benefit of Susan and the waiting house-elves. Hermione looked back at him gratefully and he released his hold, letting her slip out of view and back into the corridor. He turned and looked down at his elves. 'We'll take dinner in the study, I think,' he suggested. They all bowed and moved back to dismantle the set-up of the dining room. Susan pouted, picking up her camera bag and following after him.


	5. Chapter 5

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming them as my own.

* * *

The study was different from many of the original rooms in the Manor, having been completely redecorated by Draco. It was one of his favourite rooms. The stone floor had been covered by a plush red carpet, while mahogany shelves lined the walls, full to the brim with books. His own novels were stacked in a pile by the side of the desk, ready for him to refer back to for continuity purposes. He'd also felt awkward about displaying them with his own books, believing it would be a slightly arrogant gesture. Hermione moved to the leather chair by the fire and collapsed into it with relief. She still looked on edge and Draco wanted to give her a few moments to compose herself. He turned back to Susan.

'How about we set you up somewhere with good light? It might take a bit of playing around in this house.'

'Sure,' Susan shrugged in acquiescence. He led her away from the study and down the corridor, leaving Hermione by herself.

She glanced down at the dying embers in the hearth with a sigh. If she'd had the choice, she wouldn't have come back here. Part of her had hoped the experience might be cathartic, but the reality was closer to crushing. As the ember light began to fade, she realised she'd never felt so old. She'd been forced to experience things that children should never have to. They may have thought themselves mature, the golden threesome battling Lord Voldemort, but that's what they were - children. Ironic, really, how hunting out horcruxes had been so soul-destroying.

She pushed herself up from the chair and began to examine the room. The colour-scheme reminded her of the Gryffindor common room and provided a similar comforting warmth. She ran her finger along the edge of a bookshelf and wandered around the room, her eyes roaming the books. Some titles must have been inherited, or at least Hermione hoped so, considering the number which pertained to cursed artefacts and dark magic. They were interspersed with more cheerful topics, even some muggle fiction. _Intriguing._ Her foot came into contact with something hard, and a small pile of books scattered across the floor at her feet. She bent down to reassemble the pile, inspecting the novels.

 _'Oh my Knight_ , _'_ Hermione read aloud, examining the cover. It featured a long-haired man without a shirt sat at a castle window, a blonde-haired princess stretched across his lap.

' _The Pirate's Booty.'_ This time there was a shirtless male hostage bound to the mast, while a sexy female pirate brandished a sword.

'What is this?' Hermione wondered to herself. Did Draco have a penchant for chick-lit? He was clearly an avid follower of the author, D. M. Granger. There were several more books, all along the same lines, stacked in precarious-looking piles around his desk. She recalled a few reviews that had been submitted to the Daily Prophet on the mysterious D. M. Granger's work. They were generally favourable, although Hermione had never been tempted enough to pick one up. She found little time for reading fiction with her job.

Draco re-entered the study and paused, his eyes widening at the sight of her mishandling his books. She straightened and shot him a confused stare.

'I can explain,' he held up his hands in surrender.

'Your personal life is none of my business,' she replied, manoeuvring herself around the desk and back towards the chair. She stood behind it, her hands gripping the top edge, the chair placed firmly between Draco and herself.

'What do you mean, it's not your business?' He folded his arms. ' _You_ came _here_ to interview _me.'_

'You know why, don't you.' It wasn't a question. Draco shrugged, his arms unfolding. He buried his hands in his pockets. 'Kingsley wants to gloat at your failure to put Voldemort in power.'

'I never cared about that.' She moved out from behind the chair.

'Maybe you should,' she said accusatorily. 'Everyone's laughing at you. You put your eggs in the wrong basket and lost.' Draco looked hurt for a moment, but his expression quickly clouded over.

'I did what my parents made me do, Hermione. I was just a child.'

'We were all children,' she growled back, throwing her arms out. 'We were all just children! Fred and Lavender and Colin...' she fell onto the floor, tears streaming down her face. The faces of all the innocent students lost flashed into her mind, the grief overwhelming. Draco paused, uncertain how she would interpret an attempt to comfort her. Hermione was sobbing deeply, her fingers clawing the red carpet. He couldn't watch her in such pain and do nothing.

'Hermione,' he knelt down in front of her, his hands reaching out to cover her own. 'I was brought up in a culture of fear and perhaps it was foolish, but I was desperate for my father's praise. He manipulated that, along with Voldemort. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I always felt like I was too far gone to stop. I never wanted what happened at Hogwarts.'

'It's fine you saying that now, when everyone's dead.' She spat back angrily, but she didn't pull her hands free from his. He moved his face closer to hers.

'Do you think if I'd disobeyed them, anything would have changed?' She didn't answer. 'I've thought it through so many times, Hermione, every single night I think about what I could have done differently. The outcome wouldn't have changed.'

'I can't forget,' she sobbed, her eyes moving up from the carpet to his. 'I see their faces all the time. I think about all the things they never got to do.'

Draco moved forward and pressed his mouth to hers, it being the only comforting gesture he knew. She responded to the kiss slowly, the tears still running down her face. He could taste the salt on her lips and felt a desperate longing, deep in his chest, for her never to be sad again.

Susan appeared in the doorway. 'I've set up my lamps now,' her voice faltered as she took in the scene. Malfoy pushed himself away from Hermione, releasing her hands. He stood up and tried to look composed, but was unsure how to break the tense silence in the room.

Mibby, a house-elf with a pierced ear and green waistcoat slipped through the doorway, solving his dilemma.

'Master,' she said proudly, 'we are ready to set-up dinner.' Draco nodded.

Susan was ushered into the room without a chance to speak as a stream of elves appeared, setting up fold-away tables. A plethora of dishes in silver tureens were arranged on one table, while another held three different varieties of wine, each matched to a specific dish. Hermione pushed herself up from the floor and back into the leather armchair, her gaze firmly avoiding the others. Draco sat behind his desk, forcing Susan to sit on the edge of a chaise longue at the opposite side of the room.

The three selected and ate their dinner in silence. Susan was afraid to mention what she'd seen, what she didn't understand. Neither Draco nor Hermione wanted to discuss the stolen kiss in front of her.

Mibby re-appeared towards the end of dinner and went straight to her master's feet. They had a brief whispered conversation, whilst the other elves began to clear away the dishes. 'I see,' Draco said audibly. He turned his gaze back to his guests. Hermione stared firmly at her empty soup bowl.

'The storm has gotten worse,' he explained. 'The grounds are flooded and the wind is too strong for me to lend you broomsticks. You'll both have to stay the night.'


	6. Chapter 6

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming ownership.

* * *

Hermione had let herself be ushered up the stairs and into a guest suite. Susan underwent a similar ushering at the bottom end of the corridor to her, and seemed unphased by the turn of events. Hermione's room was comfortable but sparse. A fire had been lit in the hearth and was roaring away happily, while the stone floor had been covered as much as possible by a variety of old, Persian rugs. The bed was four-poster, topped with a mound of plump white pillows, tempting Hermione greatly. She longed to crawl under the covers and fall asleep, longed for the bliss that might come from being able to close her eyes and wish away the surroundings. Her mind flitted back to Draco's kiss, her fingers moving up to brush her lips where Draco's tongue had been. She felt so guilty for breaking down in front of him, as if he might have gotten some satisfaction from her weakness.

She shook her head and walked over to the en-suite. The room was dominated by a large, porcelain bath-tub with clawed feet. A variety of bath oils were on an adjacent shelf, expensive-looking and untouched. Hermione ran her hand along the edge of the bath then perused the oils. Lavender would help her sleep. Tea Tree would cleanse her mind. Determined, she switched on the taps and began to fill the bath with hot water. She locked the bathroom door and gratefully began to peel off her muddied clothes, then slipped into the tub. The water was soothing, burning away her guilt.

Lying in the bubbles, she tried to confront the two halves of Draco - the boy she had loved, and the boy she had loathed. It had been so easy back then to see everything in black-and-white, an illusion she had continued well into her twenties. She had often been worried that if she saw Draco as an equal victim, it would detract from the suffering that her peers had gone through. It was plausible that he had been manipulated, like he had said, that he had been ostracised, bullied and threatened. Yet would the bad guy ever admit his faults, or just lie to get in her pants? She blushed. _I don't even know that the kiss meant anything._ She knew from their childhood how bad Draco dealt with crying girls. _Perhaps he was just trying to shut me up._

The interview had been delayed until the next day with the storm, and she was grateful for that at least, being both physically and emotionally drained from the day.

Yet...

If she couldn't trust Draco, how could she trust his words tomorrow? What if the interview garnered her nothing, no interesting facts to write about? She doubted that the reading public were that interested in Draco's literary habits. The suggestion that a former death-eater enjoyed erotic chick-lit in his spare time would hardly cause a scandal. It wouldn't be enough to make her stand out to head office, to win her the promotion to head editor.

She climbed from the bath and wrapped a towel around her body. That was one thing she hadn't considered - what she was going to put on _after_ her bath.

Thankfully, a change of clothes must have been a common need for Malfoy guests. The wardrobe in her room was full to the brim with outfits, some in Hermione's size. The colour palette ranged from grey to emerald green, certainly embracing the darker clothing spectrum, and some of the styles seemed slightly dated, but Hermione was still grateful. She extracted a simple black dress, the sleeves a shimmering silver lace, exposing the skin underneath. Everything else was a little too heavy to sleep in... or explore in.

Hermione had made up her mind to search through the Manor while the others slept. She was certain she'd be able to find something worthwhile to write about.

She slipped out of the room with her wand, her hair tied back from her face in a damp French braid. The dress was clingy, but she enjoyed the way the velvet skirt danced around her thighs. _Focus_ , she told herself. She retraced her steps back along the corridor, tip-toeing down the stairs to the ground floor. She disregarded the study, having already examined its contents. The rest of the rooms on the floor were equally unsatisfactory. There were a few reception rooms which looked like they hadn't been touched in years, a thick layer of dust covering the velveteen sofas and obsidian tables. The kitchen was easy enough to distinguish from the noise of the elves, but she decided to avoid that as well - from many previous interviews, she knew house-elves were unlikely to speak badly of their previous families, and she certainly didn't want them telling Draco that she was prowling around the Manor.

She paused upon finding the door to the basement. A cool breeze blew up the stone stairs, making the skirt of her dress sway. She glanced nervously back at the corridor, then committed herself to the trespass.

The first few rooms she discovered were clearly part of the old dungeons, most still possessing the original iron grilles. Then came the wine cellar, which was extensive but largely empty. There was only one more room on the corridor, the source of the chill which was making Hermione shiver. She tried the handle, but it was locked. Hermione frowned. She was certain there was something interesting behind this door, something newsworthy. Something that would change her life.

* * *

Draco had been unable to sleep or write, his mind constantly replaying the encounter with Hermione in the study. He knew that they would have to discuss his role in the uprising of Voldemort. He knew she would be difficult to convince. Still, he wished he'd said more, or done something to prove the truth of his words.

With a sigh, he pushed himself up from the desk in his study. He needed a cup of tea laced with a sleeping-aid - that way he might get some peace.

He paused on his path to the kitchens, perplexed at finding the basement door open. A breeze moved up the steps and he shivered, his hand moving to push the door closed. The former dungeons had given him the creeps, especially when he was a child, and his father had often locked him down there as a punishment.

 _Wait..._

Noises were coming from down there. He could just make out a female voice, and the tinny clash of metal-on-metal. His hand gripped the door handle.

He didn't want to go down there. But what if it was Hermione? She had no idea what she was getting herself into, if she'd strayed into the dungeons.

His dithering ended as she screamed. His blood turned to ice.


	7. Chapter 7

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming ownership.

* * *

It had taken several combinations of unlocking spells before Hermione had been able to force the door open with her shoulder. The wood was swollen and rotting from the dampness in the dungeons, and required a few good kicks before it swung free on its hinges. Hermione used the _Lumos_ spell to light up the room, her heart racing at the thought of her potential discovery.

When its contents were revealed, she squealed in delight.

The room was a mish-mash of old furniture, mostly tables and chests, with lop-sided shelves hanging from chains against the walls. On every available surface and in every nook and cranny - dark artefacts. This was something Hermione could easily turn into a story. There were several items she recognised as being illegal to possess, such as the stuffed Manticore head or Hippogriff beak. Some items simply required a licence, such as the large collection of poisons, and that would be a simple letter to the Ministry of Magic to check. She was betting Draco didn't have the necessary paperwork. Hermione walked into the centre of the small room and turned a full 360 degrees, taking it all in. In the far corner, she recognised the vanishing cabinet which before the destruction of its pair, linked to Hogwarts. On one of the shelves above it, the hand of glory. There were several other items sealed under glass domes, bottles of old wine or ornate jewellery, probably cursed.

The gilded edge of some paintings caught her eye, wedged in the gap between the cabinet and wall. She inched forwards and extracted the largest piece, brushing the dust from its surface with the edge of her hand. The Malfoy family glared back at her. Lucius and Narcissa stood in the centre, their hands placed on the shoulders of a younger Draco. Lucius sneered at her, gripping his son in a possessive manner. Draco simply looked morose, staring at the floor of the portrait. Hermione's eyes roamed across the faces, most of them unrecognisable as she wasn't familiar with the family genealogy. Bellatrix was stood to the left of her sister, looking threatening. Hermione felt a brief moment of victory at the witch's death, and childishly stuck her tongue out at the former death-eater. She leant the portrait up against the cabinet and reached for a second painting.

Her breath caught in her throat, as her eyes surveyed the portrait of a younger Draco. He was as exactly as she remembered him from her youth, arrogant and dressed in black. He didn't sneer but looked out at her, curious. She felt a flash of guilt about her trespassing. Everything in the room was thick with dust, so it were possible that the items were simply relics of his father. Somebody had certainly gone to some effort to seal everything in this room. Was it Draco, burying a past he no longer wanted to be associated with? Would it really be fair of her to bring his shame out into the light?

But if she didn't use what she had found, it might mean her career.

She bit her lip. Perhaps, just in case, she should wake Susan up and bring her down here. They could photograph and catalogue the items as a back-up, if the interview the next day ended up being unsatisfactory. She nodded her head, resolute.

As she moved back towards the doorway, her eyes fell onto an elaborately-carved table. In its centre was a small glass sphere, held up from the table surface by a simple wire stand. Black smoke swirled within the sphere, its contortions mesmerising. She knelt down to get a better look. There was an almost invisible gilding on the sphere surface, which suddenly lit up as if the gold had caught the light. She gasped as she read the name 'H. Potter.' Why would Harry's name be engraved on an item in Draco's basement?

The cool breeze moved through the room again, tousling her hair in a tempting manner. She was certain that the cold was emanating from the sphere and moved her face closer. The breeze appeared again almost like a caress, welcoming her to touch the item. Her eyes locked onto the swirling smoke and her hand moved forward. She had no capacity for thought, being so focused on the strange item. Her rational self tried to battle for control underneath the obsession and for a moment, it looked like it might win. Her fingers paused a few centimetres away from the glass.

Her hand clasped the dome and she screamed. It had definitely been the source of the chill, the cold stinging her skin and making her grip falter. The glass sphere fell from her grasp and onto the stone floor, where it shattered.

* * *

Draco ran down the stairs as fast as he could, his hand already gripping his wand, prepared to fight. The valley was known for its key position in the yearly troll migration, and it wasn't unheard of for trolls to sneak into houses to hibernate. He'd had to deal with them before. What if Hermione had stumbled across a sleeping troll and was now at its mercy?

Light pooled out from a room at the bottom of the corridor and he ran towards it, unthinking. He couldn't believe it, when he realised what must have happened. _Stupid girl_. Hermione had somehow broken into the store room of the dungeons, where Draco had hidden many of his father's artefacts and other possessions he could no longer bear to look at. The door had been sealed since his father's death and with the passage of time, he had almost forgotten of its existence.

Hermione had her back against the door and sat in a slouch, one hand cradling the other in her lap. She wasn't crying, but she looked in pain.

'Let me see,' he asked, kneeling down in front of her. She reluctantly held out her hand, revealing the angry red welt across her palm. He frowned. 'What did you touch? Was it the hand of glory?' She shook her head, her lips pursed tightly closed. 'I need to know, Hermione, or I can't treat the wound.'

Ashamed, she glanced back at the shattered remnants of the glass sphere. His eyes followed her line of sight and upon noticing the smashed glass, his heart skipped a beat. _Oh no... oh no no no no no..._

Hermione had turned her eyes back to his face, her own mimicking the look of horror as she tried to understand what she had done. He forced his expression to become neutral, not wanting to worry her prematurely, and wrapped his arm underneath hers to lift her up. 'Keep the wound clean,' he instructed, trying to remain stern and hide his true feelings.

Hermione let herself be led away from the room and back up the stairs to Draco's study. He let her down gently into the leather armchair she had previously occupied, then pointed his wand at the fire to reignite it. Draco abandoned her to move to his desk, reaching for the bottom drawer. It had been his father's hiding place for his own alcohol, and Draco had kept it for the same purpose. He pulled out a small flask of firewhiskey and two glasses, filling them both to the brim.

Hermione held her good hand out for the glass but he side-tracked her, instead placing it on the hearth near the flames. He sat down on the floor by the fire and downed his glass in one. They waited in silence as the untouched firewhiskey warmed up by the fire. When he was sure it was warm, he grabbed the glass and dumped its contents unceremoniously over Hermione's injured hand. She let out a shriek and then swore at him. It was so unlike the girl he knew that he had to suppress a grin.

'It's your own bloody fault,' he chastised, sitting back down.

'What was that thing?' She demanded, cradling the alcohol-soaked hand to her chest. Draco grimaced and shook his head.

'Of all the things you had to touch in that room...' Hermione's anger faded into worry. 'You're really screwed.'

'Draco, what was it?' She asked, wide-eyed.

'Voldemort's secret weapon.'


	8. Chapter 8

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming them as my own.

* * *

'What do you mean, Voldemort's secret weapon?' Hermione repeated, confused. Draco pulled the flask out again, topping up both empty glasses. He handed her glass up to her. 'The elder wand was the secret weapon.'

'Do you honestly think he'd have just one?' Draco rolled his eyes and downed the second glass, then poured another. 'He was paranoid in a major way about Potter, after the killing curse backfired the first time round.' He stared at the flask, weighing up the cons of having a fourth drink. Hermione made no move on her firewhiskey, but cupped the warm glass against her injured palm.

'But Voldemort's dead now. He's been dead for over a decade.'

'That doesn't change the curse you released.' Hermione's face fell.

'Harry...' she mumbled, thinking of her old friend. He was probably in the cottage in Alnwick with Ginny, blissfully unaware of what was happening 300 miles away.

'It was created by my father. The glass held the spirit of a demon, who could earn his release by killing Harry and aiding Voldemort's ascent to power.'

'Demons don't exist,' Hermione frowned, narrowing her eyes at him. _Is this some kind of joke he's playing on me?_

'You think you know everything,' Draco growled, opting to fill his glass with firewhiskey once more. He downed it in two mouthfuls. 'You have no clue of the evil which is out there, right under your feet. What were you doing in there?' He demanded.

Hermione blushed and gulped down her own firewhiskey, avoiding his eyes. He could read her like a book.

'You wanted to find something juicy to write about, didn't you?' He chucked his glass into the flames where it smashed against the brick chimney-back. Draco pushed himself up into a standing position, staring at her. 'Do you realise what your stupidity has done?'

She pushed herself up from the chair to face him, equally angry.

'My stupidity!? Whose stupid idea was it to keep that thing down there?'

'You broke the lock!' He pointed a finger into her chest, pushing her back slightly. She batted his hand away.

'You invited me here!'

'You're the one who agreed to the invitation!'

'Like I had a choice!?'

The pair glared at one another, neither one willing to back down.

'You...' Malfoy started, accusingly. Hermione scowled, her hands clenching into fists.

'Filthy mudblood? Just you dare, Malfoy. I'll kick your arse!'

He moved forward and she tensed. His hands moved up to cup her face and he forced his lips onto hers, the kiss passionate and angry. Hermione succumbed, her arms wrapping themselves around his waist, channelling her frustration back at him. The pair fell to the floor, the embrace gaining in intensity. Draco tried to move away from her mouth but she pulled him back, one of her legs wrapping around his to hold him in position. One hand began to search her back, looking for a way to unzip the dress. They tipped sideways, rolling so Hermione was forced to the top, straddling his hips. She pulled away and looked down at him, gasping for air. The once-neat plait was now a mess, strands of curly hair falling over her face. Draco looked up at her, panting, his hands skirting the top of her thighs.

She climbed from him, her hands fumbling to neaten her hair then picked up the flask of firewhiskey from the hearth. Draco pushed himself up into a sitting position, watching her. His head felt hazy and his skin warm where she had touched him. 'That firewhiskey's potent stuff,' he offered. She avoided his gaze, embarrassed about how they'd acted, and instead stared into the flames.

'Will Harry be OK?' She asked weakly. The mention of his once-nemesis was enough to kill Malfoy's buzz.

'I don't know. This was all set up years ago.' He pushed himself up from the carpet and sat on the edge of his desk, straightening his clothes. Her eyes shot to him.

'Do you have any floo powder?'

'Why?'

* * *

The entrance of Hermione and Draco into her kitchen was not something Ginny had been expecting. The pair had looked dishevelled and dirty, but Ginny had to admit, she did like Hermione's new style. She smiled at her, pretending that Draco wasn't there.

Hermione hadn't visited the cottage in a long time. She felt horrible for her absence, but Ginny and Harry's home was a place of happiness that she didn't feel entitled to intrude upon. She'd had to overcome her misgivings to check on the couple, and be certain that Harry hadn't been murdered horribly by a demon she had supposedly released.

Ginny dried a wooden spoon on the edge of her apron. She looked very mumsy, wearing a duck-egg jumper with high-waisted jeans, her ginger hair pulled up into a ponytail. 'He's upstairs, sleeping,' she explained with a shrug. 'I'm not so happy about you bringing trash into my house, though.'

Draco was confused, until he realised the remark had been aimed at him. The firewhiskey was still being pumped around his veins and he was spoiling for a fight, but Hermione placed a hand against his arm to silence his retort.

'Can you go check on him?' She asked, desperate. Ginny pulled her apron off with a sigh.

'Are you not going to tell me what this is about?'

'I will,' she promised, 'just not right now.' Ginny rolled her eyes,

'Aha.' The young Weasley left the room, trudging up the stairs to check on her sleeping husband. Hermione narrowed her eyes at Draco.

'You should have stayed at your house.' He folded his arms, looking like a petulant child.

'This concerns me as much as it does you.'

Ginny reappeared in the doorway and shrugged at them. 'He's fine. Still out for the count.'

'And you're sure he's breathing?' Draco asked, lurching forward. Hermione caught his stumble and pulled him upright, but Ginny's suspicions had been raised. She glanced between the pair of them with a disapproving look.

'I don't know what you've gotten yourself into, Hermione, but I want him out of my house. Now.' Hermione grimaced,

'Of course, we'll get out of your hair, Ginny. I'm so sorry for bothering you...' she dragged Draco back towards the fireplace. He seemed less steady on his feet compared to when they'd left and sagged in her arms - that firewhiskey really was potent stuff.


	9. Chapter 9

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming ownership.

* * *

Their return to Malfoy Manor via the floo network had been a tricky one, with Draco becoming increasingly unresponsive. She was unsure whether it was due to drunkenness or pensiveness, but regardless, she had dragged him out of the fireplace and pushed him in the direction of the armchair. He now sat there in a daze, his head lolling against his chest. She scowled. Dealing with drunk men was not something she had signed up for.

She glanced at the half-consumed bottle of firewhiskey, tempted to end her own night in a drunken stupor. She had been such a fool, rushing to Alnwick unannounced to check on Harry's wellbeing. Despite what Draco protested, she had never seen any proof or mention of demons past the dark ages in her reading. It was unlikely that Lucius Malfoy had somehow stumbled onto a method to summon the magical creatures, let alone knew of a spell to trap and manipulate one.

Draco groaned, shifting his position in the chair so his face was completely pressed against the leather back. She rolled her eyes and thought back to the large, welcoming bed upstairs. Metres away from pure, fluffy bliss. Draco groaned again and slipped down the chair, pooling onto the floor at her feet.

She couldn't very well leave him alone like this. _What choice do I have?_

* * *

The compromise had been very much on her side, at least in Hermione's opinion. With the help of a spell to make Draco feather-light, she had dragged him up the stairs and to the guest suite. To her dismay, he had chosen that point to awake from his stupor and had climbed straight into her bed, oblivious to his surroundings. Further attempts to awaken him had been futile, and she certainly wasn't going to sleep on the floor in _her_ room.

When she was awoken by Draco the next morning, she realised what a stupid idea it had been. Clearly, her common sense had also been impeded by the firewhiskey. She had been on the verge of waking up naturally when Draco woke her up, nuzzling into her neck and pressing up against her. Annoyed, she had twisted to face him but found that he was still asleep, his body clinging to her on auto-pilot. She flicked him in the nose, jolting him awake.

Draco was shaken, quickly retreating to the opposite side of the bed in confusion. He pulled the covers up to his neck, trying to hide himself and stared at her, wide-eyed. As he began to awake fully, he untensed and smirked at her. 'Did you take advantage of me, Granger?'

She let out a displeased noise and flipped the cover from herself, exposing the pair to the cool morning air. Draco gasped, trying to reclaim the blanket and cover himself. She climbed from the bed, brushing down her dress from the night before. It was a little creased from being slept in and she moved over to the wardrobe, hoping to find a suitable replacement. 'You made a fool out of me, last night,' Hermione shouted back to him, over her shoulder.

'Huh?'

Hermione smiled to herself and abandoned the wardrobe, moving over to the curtains. She ripped them open to reveal the morning light, making Draco swear. It had been petty, but hey, it wasn't her fault he was hungover. She had the full intention of returning to her clothes search, when she heard noise outside the window. Frowning, she moved up to the glass and stared out.

'What on earth...' she mumbled to herself. Her bedroom no longer possessed a country-view, looking out onto the sloping valleys and forests. Instead she could see the Shard, and a variety of other familiar buildings that suggested they were in London. They weren't wholly familiar however, being more grey and dreary than she remembered. She frowned. 'I could have sworn...'

Draco had crawled out of bed, borrowing her robe to hide his dishevelled clothes. His eyes widened upon seeing the view as well, making Hermione feel a little less mad. She stared hard at him.

'We were in the countryside, weren't we?' Draco said nothing, his eyes focussed on the bustling city outside his window. 'Did we get out at the wrong fireplace?'

Draco looked worried but remained silent. He turned on his heel and headed for the bedroom door and she found herself drawn after him. She struggled to keep up with his pace as they descended the stairs and re-entered the study. It was not as it had been the night before; all comforting décor was gone, replaced by how she'd imagined it had once looked. Draco's eyes were fixed on the far end of the room and she turned from inspecting the furnishings to follow his gaze.

 _Impossible._ _He's dead_.

Lucius Malfoy sneered at his son, his arms folded. 'My boy, what are you wearing?' He asked, his voice tinged with distaste. His look contorted upon seeing Hermione, the ferocity of his gaze scaring her. She reached out for Draco instinctively, her hand clinging to the back of the robe. 'Who is this?' Lucius asked, moving from around the stone desk to face the pair. Hadn't he recognised her?

Draco was struggling for words beside her, struck mute by the resurrection of his abusive father. Lucius was unimpressed by his son's silence and turned his enquiring gaze to Hermione. He held out his hand for hers and she obliged, grimacing internally as he brought it up to his lips to kiss.

'It is a pleasure to meet you, my girl, even if my son has been rather rude about introducing you. Who are you?' She pulled her hand back to her side.

'I...' she was cut off by Draco.

'She's my cousin, four times removed on Aunty Bellatrix's side. Don't you remember?' He blurted, lying. His hand moved backwards to grip hers, willing her to play along with the deception.

'Hmm. Well, run along, Draco.' He gave Hermione a false smile. 'We'll talk later,' he added under his breath, threatening his son. Draco bowed his head quickly and pulled her out the door.

She expected to be led back up to her room, desperate for some kind of explanation about what had just happened. Instead, she found herself being led towards the dungeons.


	10. Chapter 10

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming them as my own.

* * *

Draco had dragged her down the steps at a worrying pace, his grip on her wrist beginning to hurt. The dungeons were also different, although she barely had time to notice at the pace she was pulled along. She noted the presence of at least two prisoners in one cell, with another reaching out to grab her as she passed. Thankfully, he was not quick enough, and from his shadow Hermione wasn't sure the creature was altogether human.

He released his grip at the store room, hesitating in front of the door. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the latch. The room was practically unchanged, with the exception of lit wall sconces. Draco seemed to relax and stepped into the room, Hermione trailing after. He seemed abnormally focused on the vanishing cabinet before turning his attention to her.

'Do you understand what's going on?'

'Not really.' She rubbed her wrist, wondering whether it would bruise. 'Why didn't your father recognise me?'

Draco stared back at her, incredulous. 'Seriously, that's your problem here? Not the fact that he's _dead.'_

'Like an inferi?' She queried, confused. She had been vaguely aware of reports of Lucius Malfoy's death a few years ago, but in order to distance herself from her past, she had tried to not pay attention to these things.

'That is not what an inferi looks like!' The sudden change in tone surprised Hermione. Draco was shaking, pacing in front of her. He ran his hands through his hair roughly, trying to figure things out. She tried to think of an explanation for the situation they had found themselves in, but what could possibly have happened in the brief time they were asleep? Her head began to ache and she grimaced at him.

'I don't know what's going on,' she cried, frustrated. He stopped in his pacing and stared at her.

'The demon was set to kill Harry and aid you-know-who's ascent to power.'

'You mean Vol...' Draco reached out, placing a finger against her lips to silence her.

'Not here. It's not safe.'

'Draco, you're scaring me.'

'The demon didn't go for modern-day Harry because you-know-who was already dead.' He watched Hermione's lack of comprehension. 'Look around you, Hermione. Why is my father alive, the house back to its original self, surrounded by some city which is only vaguely familiar?' She was still confused. 'It's not London outside this house, Hermione.'

'I don't know,' she sobbed. Everything was a huge mess.

He grabbed the top of her arms, forcing her to sober up and look at him.

'The demon went back in the past to kill Harry. It's the only way you-know-who could survive.'

'You mean...' Hermione couldn't believe it. 'We've changed the past.'

'And now we're stuck in a different future.'

'Susan,' Hermione exclaimed, her hands moving up to her mouth in horror. What had happened to her oblivious friend?

'She won't be here,' Draco pulled her hands down, cradling them in his own. 'She might not be a photographer in this future, she might not work for the Daily Prophet, hell, she might not even be alive.'

'Is that why your father didn't recognise me?' She frowned at him. 'Draco, am I dead in this reality?'

'I don't know.' He looked away from her eyes, uncomfortable. 'You might be locked up somewhere, and he hasn't seen you since Hogwarts.'

'Well how can we fix it?'

'I don't know.'

'You need to know!' She shouted, pushing him away. 'If Harry's dead, then... then... oh my god.' She felt herself moving into full-panic mode.

'Hermione, you know how we can go into the past to change things back?' He already knew the answer, thinking back to the strange things he had seen in third year.

'There were time-turners, but they were all destroyed by the ministry...' Draco smiled,

'They were destroyed by the ministry in a past that doesn't exist any more. But you know how to use them?'

'Do you think you could get one?' He paused, thinking out a plan, then shrugged.

'What choice do we have?'

* * *

Draco had left the house, moving out into a world that Hermione no longer recognised. Buildings she associated with modern London had instead been built here, in the valley. The countryside around Malfoy Manor was been prime real-estate for urbanisation, a gift from Lord Voldemort to one of his most trusted death-eaters. Lucius had made a fortune from the surrounding industry and enslavement of magical creatures. The reality where Harry had failed, letting Lord Voldemort ascend to magical overlord, was a bleak one.

Hermione was thankful for the quick lie about her past, now being able to roam the house freely as a distant Malfoy cousin. However, she felt so embarrassed and horrified by her mistake that all she could think about was returning to the guest suite. She managed the journey without running into Malfoy's immediate family and climbed back into the bed. The mattress was still warm to the touch where herself and Malfoy had lain, innocent to the change in their stars. She wrapped the duvet around her tightly, cocooning herself from the world, and waited for Draco's return.

* * *

'Hello?' The door to her room opened and closed, waking Hermione from her slumber. She pushed herself up from the soft mound and winced at the light which poured in through the window and onto her face.

Draco stood by the door, but had changed his clothes from earlier. Now he was wearing a strange black robe, the right breast embellished by a dark velvet 'LV' monogram. His hair was different as well, the style more refined and shorter than she had ever seen on him before. His expression confused her, one of horror and joy.

He ran to her, leaping onto the bed. She was pinned underneath him, the duvet squashed between their bodies as he plastered her face with kisses. No skin was left untouched, and Hermione was in too much of a daze from her sleep to protest. He pulled back, his hands moving down from her face to rest on her shoulders and smiled at her. Hermione managed to wrangle an arm free from her cushioned prison to touch her face, and found it damp. He had been crying.

'You're alive,' he exclaimed. 'I can't believe it. You're alive.'

'I...' Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but he leant forward, pressing his lips against hers. The gesture was familiar yet strange to her, although she wasn't sure why. Within a few seconds of his caress, she didn't really care why either.


	11. Chapter 11

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming them as my own.

* * *

There had been something very different about Draco's embrace. His actions were precise, as if he had lived through them several times before, yet there was a barely contained desperation in his touch. Every caress seemed to have a sad note to it, each kiss suggesting something akin to mourning. It was completely unlike her previous encounters with him, which were often hot and heavy. He was so affected by her presence that she almost felt like she were drowning in his grief, and desperate to comfort his sorrow, couldn't push him away. She finally let herself succumb to him completely.

It wasn't until the pair were in that post-coital haze, with Draco dozing beside her, that Hermione realised what the difference had been. She twisted under the duvet to face him, moving her hand up to trace the outline of his jaw. He stirred, sleepy eyes opening to focus on her, and smiled. 'Hey,' he offered.

'What happened?' She asked in a whisper. He sighed, manoeuvring his arm to pull her body against his. He needed full reassurance of her presence before revisiting his past and she acquiesced, pressing her face against his chest.

'You died at Hogwarts.' He admitted. 'The dark lord had Potter's body brought up to the school, expecting that the students would surrender.' Draco paused and Hermione felt his breath catch beneath her. 'You just ran out to attack him. Bellatrix got you first, I think.'

'And everyone else?'

'They burnt the school to the ground.' Her heart seized, imagining the destruction, but she couldn't leave her questions there. She bit her lip, worried about his next response.

'What about my parents?'

'I don't know,' he sighed. 'The regime requires all muggles to be in servitude. There was some resistance in Europe, but most countries fell to the dark lord.'

Her mind flitted back to everyone she'd ever met: her parents, her grandparents, the mailman... where were they all now? Tears began to prick at her eyes and she chastised herself for being silly. After all, this reality wasn't real... was it? Draco had a plan to go back to their own, where her friends were alive and her parents holidaying in Australia.

'What happened to Ginny?'

'Dead.' Draco replied matter-of-factly.

'Ron?'

'Dead. He ran out after you.'

'Neville?' She felt Draco shift position and saw him looking down at her with a pitying expression. She gave him a pained smile. 'I guess they're all dead. I'm dead.' It was a strange thing to admit. 'Why not?'

His arm moved more tightly around her and she tried to relax in his grip, trying to forget the situation outside her window. It was a surprisingly easy thing to do in his arms.

'Are you happy?' She asked, curious. He didn't respond. 'Draco?'

'I wished that I had died at the battle. I try and save you in my dreams, but every time I fail.'

Heartbroken, Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist and nuzzled into his chest.

* * *

Draco had made enquiries with the house-elves in the kitchen before apparating to London. He had almost expected the Ministry of Magic to have moved location to the valley. Seemingly, in this reality, his family possessed a lot of power - no one dared stop him in the Ministry, or prevent his exploration and theft of a time turner from the department of mysteries. However, he had noticed the change in fashion, and been required to steal a black robe to blend in. Seemingly Voldemort had added dress-dictator to his CV, alongside racist despot.

He had apparated back to Malfoy Manor several hours later. Exhausted, he headed up to Hermione's room, expecting that she would have taken refuge there from his now reunited family.

There was no way he could have predicted what he found on his return. After he'd overcome the shock, he realised that perhaps he should have considered the possibility. Why would there not be another Draco Malfoy, who had lived through the changed future, present in the house?

Although why a semi-naked Hermione was draped over him, he had no idea.

Grimacing, he leant forward over the bed, prodding the sleeping Hermione in the shoulder. She pushed herself up from his doppelganger's chest slowly and blinked at him. She quickly realised her predicament and pulled the duvet up to cover herself, blushing. Draco didn't know how to feel about this turn of events. He folded his arms. 'Granger, did you sleep with me?'

Hermione nodded, pouting at him.

 _Unbelievable_ , Draco thought to himself. All the effort he'd gone through to try and win her heart, even if his results were often poor, and she gave in to a him that wasn't _him?_ How was a rational person meant to deal with a situation like this? Nobody had prepared him for the moment when the love of his life cheated on him with himself.

'... Was I any good?' Hermione didn't answer but her face broke out into a grin, appreciating the ridiculousness of the situation.

'If it helps, I didn't realise.' She shrugged. Draco rolled his eyes,

'That's exactly what you said the last time,' he replied, referring back to the incident with mirror-Draco. 'You think you'd have learnt by now to recognise the real me.'

'Did you find a time-turner?'

Draco reached into the black robes and extracted a gold chain, the pendant turner hanging down. He knew it was ridiculous to be jealous of himself, but if he woke up in the next few minutes... well, he might just punch himself in the face.

'I think it's time to go,' he suggested, 'before you take advantage of me again.'


	12. Chapter 12

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming them as my own.

* * *

The pair left the sleeping Draco, sneaking down to the dungeons so that they might use the time-turner without being disturbed. Hermione had shot him one last look from the doorway before closing the door on her mistake. Once the cold stone floor had hit her feet and she'd been able to think without the influence of hormones, she realised that sleeping with alternative-reality Malfoy may not have been the best idea. She was aware of the perils of different-selves coming into contact with one another outside of their natural time, and hoped that her encounter wouldn't have any negative ramifications.

She followed Draco into the store room slowly, her mind running through the previous encounter with alternative-Draco. Her hands ran along the velvet of her skirt and she bit her lip, reliving his caress.

Her Draco scowled and snapped his fingers in front of her eyes, jolting her out of the fantasy.

'You need to focus.' He growled, pushing the time turner into her hands. 'I don't want to end up in the 1800s because you weren't paying attention.' His body language had been screaming 'annoyed' since he'd found her in bed, and now she knew - he was jealous of himself.

Draco moved away from her and opened the door to the vanishing cabinet, gesturing for her to enter. She acquiesced, climbing into the cramped space. She lifted the chain over her head, her fingers moving to the dials instinctively. He climbed in after her, shutting the door and enclosing them both in the darkness. Hermione hadn't questioned his decision, knowing it was the only way they could travel back to Hogwarts and enter the grounds. He reached out in the darkness, hands coming into contact with her dress. His hands moved up the velvet slowly, searching for the metal chain. He could feel that Hermione was holding her breath at the contact, as if he were touching her for the first time. His fingers wrapped around the chain and he pulled away, lifting it over his own head. They were now bound together, ready for the journey.

Draco waited for something - anything - to happen.

'Is it broken?' He finally asked, confused.

'I'm thinking,'

'About what? Let's go.'

'Be quiet.' Hermione was wondering how far back they needed to go, in order to intercept the demon and save the future. Draco let out an exasperated sigh and began to tap his fingers against the wood of the cabinet, bored. _Draco said that Harry's body was taken up to the school, so he can't have been killed before the Battle, but the other students had been hiding out in the room of requirement for who knows how long. It would screw up time further if Draco and I were to appear in the room of requirement moments before our younger selves appeared..._

Draco grinned in the darkness and raised his eyebrows, although Hermione couldn't see the gesture.

'Do you remember the time in Professor Binn's cupboard?' He licked his lips, feeling the heat emanating from her body. It wouldn't be fair if the him-who-wasn't-him got all the action that night. 'It was an awful lot like this,' he whispered, leaning forward.

There was the sudden noise of gears whirring against metal and Draco felt as if the pair were spinning. The effect was enough to replace his lust with nausea.

When the spinning finally stopped, he was swaying from side-to-side in the cupboard, dizzy. An arm reached past him in the dark, opening the door. He tipped from the cupboard and onto the floor with a loud thud, dragging Hermione with him. She landed on top of his body moments later, making Draco grimace further. Hermione tried to pull free from him, forgetting about the chain. The action pulled Draco's head up to hers, and their foreheads smacked against one another. Draco swore, his head hitting the floor again in a second impact and Hermione winced.

As the pain faded, Draco smirked at her, relishing the situation they had found themselves in. His hands moved over the skirt of her dress and up to her waist, fingers trailing idly across the velvet. She was also consumed by the realisation of proximity and moved her face down to his, mouth parting slowly in preparation of the kiss.

Her lips were within millimetres of his when the pair were interrupted.

'Oh, Seamus!' A female voice exclaimed.

Hermione's eyes jerked open in surprise. Draco glanced away from her, twisting his head to determine the source of the outburst. Hermione's gaze followed, roaming the contents of the room of requirement. No-one else was visible, but the room was heavily cluttered, decades of detritus piled high in tottering hills.

There was a giggle, followed by a male grunt. They were definitely not alone in the room.

'Say my name,' the girl said, followed by another giggle. Draco returned his gaze to hers, looking at her enquiringly.

'Susan,' another grunt, 'Susan...'

Hermione glanced back down at him in horror. _Seamus and Susan!_ She thought to herself in disbelief. Draco bit his lip to prevent himself from laughing, not sure whether it was Seamus and Susan's rendezvous or Hermione's expression which was the most amusing.

Hermione pulled herself free from Draco, removing the chain from his throat. They both crept over to the closest pile of bric-a-brac, and Draco peered around the corner. He recoiled at the sight, knocking back into Hermione and stepping on her foot. She hit him in the shoulder, silently displaying her annoyance at his clumsiness. He looked back at her and shrugged, wondering what they were meant to do now.

She held up a finger to his lips to ask for silence, then tip-toed away from him to approach the couple from a different angle.

When she returned, she was carrying two sets of robes, and offered one to him. Draco grimaced at the thought of trying to fit into Seamus' robes and shook his head. Hermione's eyes widened, trying to plead with him. He shook his head once more and began to pout.


	13. Chapter 13

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming them as my own.

* * *

Draco scowled as he followed Hermione down the corridor. Seamus' robes were too small for the twenty-eight year old's frame, with the sleeves cutting in under his arms and the hem barely reaching his knees. He was annoyed that he looked foolish, while Hermione had fit into Susan's robes with ease. She was scouting ahead, making sure their pathway through the castle was clear.

The pair had arrived at some point in their sixth year, when their access to the school via the room of requirement would be ensured. Hermione was now leading him to another safe area, so they might move forward in time to the battle and save Harry. If it weren't for the effect that Harry's death would have on the future, Draco wouldn't have bothered. He supposed Hermione might be a bit upset at being the cause of her friend's death too... _do it for her, and your future together_ , he thought to himself.

Hermione held her arm out, bringing him to a halt. There were the sounds of voices chattering away in the corridor, coming closer. Draco edged behind Hermione, so that no-one else might see his ill-fitting clothes. The footsteps faded away and he relaxed, unseen. Hermione set off once more, taking a convoluted route from the castle.

When they had reached the first few trees of the forbidden forest, Draco quickly pulled off the robes and chucked them to the floor. They had served their purpose. Hermione narrowed her eyes and held out the chain to him. He slipped underneath, his body pressed against hers. Now that he could see the proximity the chain forced them into without the encumbrance of the cupboard, he smirked at her. No smile broke through her serious expression and she instead turned her attention to the time turner.

'Where to now?' He asked.

'You'll see. When we get there, keep quiet.' Her fingers moved the dials, practiced at manipulating time. 'It'll be dangerous.'


	14. Chapter 14

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming ownership.

* * *

The pair span through time once more, moving forward by several months. Hermione knew that the demon had probably struck during the Battle of Hogwarts if Voldemort still brought Harry's body up to the school, but they had no way of knowing when. She had just hoped for the best and been imprecise with her winding of the dials. If necessary, they would adjust from there, in order to save her friend from the fate she had unknowingly released.

From the dark sanctuary of the forbidden forest, they could hear the screams of their fellow students and the destruction of Hogwarts. Lights flashed in the sky, clashes of red, orange and purple, but they barely penetrated the darkness of the trees. They were back at the Battle, but clearly separate, forced to the role of observers. Although she desperately wished they could intervene, Hermione knew they couldn't interfere with the natural course of events.

Silence suddenly struck and the lights began to dissipate, a hush settling over the school.

Hermione could feel her heart racing underneath Susan's robe, her breath frosting out in front of her face. Draco was similarly affected at returning to such a significant part of his past - he had been tasked with finding and reclaiming the diadem in the room of requirement. It had made him gratefully oblivious to the true horrors of the battle.

He released himself from the chain and took a few steps away from Hermione, to the edge of the tree line, but was unable to see the destruction which was unfolding on the other side of the castle. That was something to be thankful for, at least. Many of his nightmares centred around the Battle, the death of students and teachers which he felt partly responsible for. At least when he woke up from his dreams, he knew they were imagined. He didn't think he would be able to cope if his mind confirmed that what he'd imagined were real.

A twig snapped, metres away, the sound arcing out in the silence. Both himself and Hermione froze at the realisation they were not alone in the forest.

Draco crept across the pine needles to Hermione, moving an arm out to pull her behind him. His hand reached into his pocket to extract his wand, and he realised that Hermione was already gripping hers. Their eyes scanned the darkness, searching for the intruder.

'Does it hurt?' A voice whispered through the trees. Hermione latched onto the sound and spotted the figure, just a metre or so away. She tapped Draco on the shoulder so he might also identify the pale figure.

At least, for now, Harry was still alive. Hermione rushed through the events of that fateful night, trying to figure out where in the timeline they'd arrived.

Harry looked almost like a ghost, a terrified yet resigned expression on his face. He fiddled with something in his hand, then dropped it to the forest floor. Draco glanced back at her enquiringly. She had no time to respond.

The ground began to shake as if there were an earthquake, the roots of the trees around them cracking and splintering under the ground. Mounds of earth began to rise, trees tipping as they were ripped from their strongholds. Hermione clung to Draco, but Harry was not so lucky and fell to the forest floor, his head cracking against stone. The wind began to pick up in the trees, an eerie whistling through the pine needles which swirled around her unconscious friend. A dark figure began to materialise in the chaos, standing over his body.

* * *

The fight had been exhausting, with Hermione relying on every spell she knew to entrap the demon. Draco and her had made a fine team, their combined power almost insurmountable. It had been a relief to find out the truth of the history books she had read, those medieval texts which hinted at the spells necessary to conquer demons. It was a relief that her memory hadn't failed her, or she and Draco might have also died with Harry that night.

Not having any suitable containers for the evil spirit, they had been forced to rely on her trusty beaded bag. She had been disappointed that it would now be out of service. Draco had buried it under one of the ripped up trees in the forest. While Harry continued to lie unconscious, the pair had rectified the destruction which the demon had inflicted on the surrounding nature. The castle was still silent, the school tending to its injured before Harry would sacrifice himself for his fellow students.

It was at the burnt-out ruins of Hagrid's hut that Hermione had lifted the chain over Draco's head, connecting them once more to the time turner. His hair was a little singed, the pale blonde streaked with ash. His shirt was torn, the majority of the buttons having been cursed off by an errant spell. He'd never looked more tempting.

He leant forward, brushing some hair from her face to behind her ear. 'What now?'

'We have to go back and return those robes to Seamus and Susan, then go back to reality in the vanishing cupboard.' Draco smirked at her,

'I don't think Susan's going to need those robes any time soon.'

* * *

When they emerged from the vanishing cupboard in the Malfoy dungeons, everything appeared to be back the way it should be. The store room was dusty, its items untouched with the exception of the missing glass sphere. The paintings of the Malfoy family were propped against the wall, where Hermione had left them.

They walked hand-in-hand, giddy with pride on what they had achieved. They had restored the natural order. Draco had finally been the good guy.

Hermione was happy to see that the dungeons had no inmates as they moved through the final portion of the cellar, further confirming their return to the true reality. Draco released her hand, letting her move up the steps first.

Candles were burning in scones against the walls of the corridor, the warmth of the ground floor welcoming her back home. She could almost sing with happiness.

Draco had a better idea about how to celebrate, and kicking the basement door closed he moved forward, pressing her against the wall. Their lips met and her hands ran up his torso longingly, fingers caressing the ruined silk. He felt equally greedy, his hands finally roaming underneath the velvet of her dress. They settled on her hips, pulling her body closer to his. She responded in kind, pushing herself hard against him and forcing him against the opposite wall. She giggled in-between kisses as his hands began to skirt down, lifting her up to straddle his hips.

'Mama?'


	15. Chapter 15

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming them as my own.

* * *

The horror in Hermione's eyes was reflected back in Draco's. He began to release his grip, lowering her onto the floor. The small child stared up at them, no more than the age of four. She had pale blonde hair pulled back into pigtails, her eyes dark brown to match Hermione's. There could be no doubt about its parentship.

'Mama,' the child asked again, its small arms reaching out for her. When Hermione made no move to pick her up, she began to scream. Draco grimaced at the noise and not knowing what else to do, Hermione reached for the girl. Once she was sat comfortably on Hermione's hip, the small hands entwined in her hair, the child began to quieten and stare with curiosity at Draco.

'This isn't right,' Hermione whispered.

'I don't know,' Draco smirked, waving a finger in front of the child's face to amuse her. 'She's kind of cute.'

The child leant forward, it's teeth locking onto Draco's finger. He swore and pulled his hand away, while the girl giggled.

'I take it back,' he wiped the finger against his singed shirt. 'She's not cute.'

'We must have done something to alter the course of time.' Hermione shook her head, annoyed by the turn of events. 'We'll have to change it back.'

'The reality where we're married and have a child is so abhorrent to you?' Draco replied, hurt. She wasn't sure how to respond, so decided to try and reason with him.

'We can't stay outside of our natural time, Draco, even if we want to. We don't belong here.' The child began to tug at Hermione's hair, wanting the attention of its mother. 'If we stay,' she continued, ignoring the child in her arms, 'we won't survive. We'll die.'

The child began to cry again, wriggling and writhing in Hermione's grasp. The door opened further along the corridor.

'Elspeth?' A voice asked playfully, 'where are you hiding?'

Lucius Malfoy appeared from the entrance of the study, striding out into the corridor. He paused upon seeing Hermione and Draco, surprised, then continued moving towards them. 'Hermione, darling. I thought you weren't back from Nairobi till next week.' Lucius Malfoy placed a hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. Stunned, Hermione let him take Elspeth from her arms. Lucius pulled a funny face at the child, silencing her cries, then pouted at her. 'You shouldn't run away from daddy.'

 _... WHAT!?_ Hermione and Draco's thoughts were united in horror and surprise at this revelation. Hermione's daughter, Elspeth, had inherited her blonde hair from the Malfoy bloodline... but not from Draco.

 _How on earth could this happen? Why would I ever marry Lucius?_ Hermione's thoughts flew wildly around her head, uncomprehending any possible scenario where she might develop feelings for the father of her teenage crush. He was an abominable death-eater, who had carried out reprehensible evils against her friends and the general populace. He had placed the book which had almost killed Ginny into her cauldron. He had brought forth Voldemort from his pathetic existence. He had aided the scheme to manipulate Draco into murdering Dumbledore.

Hermione couldn't help but let her distaste show, but Lucius misinterpreted the attention of her focus.

'Son,' he said, turning to Draco. Elspeth had completely relaxed in his arms, laying her head against the mane of pale blonde hair and closing her eyes. 'What are you doing here?'

Lucius used his free arm to wrap around Hermione's waist, pulling her closer to him and further away from his son. Her eyes shot to Draco, and saw the confusion in his eyes.

 _Hermione slept with... my father?_ The resulting mental image burned into his mind and he felt bile rise in his throat. _How could this have happened?_

'Draco?' Lucius repeated, concerned by his son's dishevelled appearance.

'I...' he struggled for words. He couldn't bear to look his father in the eyes. The man who had abused him and manipulated him half his life, taught him to hate those who didn't come from the pure-blood families had gone and taken his girl. The muggle-born love of his life. Was this just another way his father had tried to control him?

'I met him in the village on my return,' Hermione answered, guessing the inner turmoil Draco was subjecting himself to. 'I invited him to join us.'

This seemed sufficient for Lucius, who gave her waist a quick squeeze. She wasn't sure of the meaning behind the gesture.

'Well, of course. You must join us for dinner, Draco.'

Draco bit his lip and gave a brisk nod. What else could he do?

'You should clean yourself up,' Hermione continued, taking on the role of matriarch. 'We should give him the guest room, upstairs.' Lucius shot her a perplexed look, indicative of some prior feud in the Malfoy family that she hadn't lived through. There was no way of knowing what had happened to make Draco's return to the ancestral home such a surprise, or to make his father - her husband - uncomfortable at offering him hospitality. Lucius turned his gaze back to Draco, a forced smile on his face.

'Why, yes. You heard your stepmother, Draco. You're a mess.' He readjusted his hold of Elspeth, lifting the young girl into a cradled position against his chest. 'Elspeth would be happy to have her brother to play with, once you've changed your clothes.'

'I'll show you,' Hermione quickly offered, pulling herself free from Lucius' hold. It was the only way she could ensure that they might have a few moments alone, to figure things out. Without waiting for Draco to respond, she placed a hand against his shoulder to push him along the corridor. She turned to glance back at Lucius and her child as they moved away. 'I'll only be a moment... dear.'


	16. Chapter 16

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming them as my own.

* * *

Draco bit his tongue until he was safely in the guest room upstairs. The moment Hermione closed the door behind her, he flipped.

'What in the HELL is going on here!?' He demanded, turning to face her. 'You slept with my father?'

'Oh come on,' Hermione frowned and folded her arms. 'You know that wasn't me.' He began to pace in front of her, arms moving wildly as he tried to come to terms with this new reality.

'Something happened which made you do it. You'd do it again if it happened to you... again.'

'You're not making any sense.' She sighed and moved past him to the window, staring out at the countryside. At least that hadn't changed, proving that their attempt to save Harry hadn't been in vain. Lord Voldemort was defeated. It was likely the Battle had been exactly as in her own past, but what happened afterwards... she couldn't help but feel curious. Turning away from the view, she pouted at Draco. 'I need you to think about what we might have changed in the past. I'll talk to your father and try and figure out how this happened.'

Determined, Hermione walked past him to leave the room. Draco grabbed her arm to stop her, pulling her back to face him.

'He's a dangerous man, Hermione.' He pulled her closer, until her forehead rested against his. 'He might look all sweet and charming, but he's a monster. Don't forget it.'

She gave him a quick kiss and pulled away, smiling at his concern. 'I'll be fine, Draco. I've dealt with worse than your father before.'

* * *

Hermione paused at the threshold of the study. Lucius was sat in a leather armchair by the fire, engrossed in his newspaper. She took a step forwards, her bare feet sinking into an emerald shag rug. Surprised, she glanced down. _When did I lose my shoes?_

'Hermione,' Lucius spoke, looking up from the paper. Her eyes darted up to his.

'Where's Elspeth?' She had hoped to avoid a one-to-one session with her now-husband, but her daughter was nowhere to be seen.

'I had her put-down for her afternoon nap. Why don't you come in?' Lucius did a quick wrist-flick with his wand, causing the door to shut behind her. Hermione jumped at the noise, then tentatively moved over to the desk. She wanted to maintain a reasonable distance from him, but he had other ideas. He smiled, folding the newspaper away.

'You've been gone too long,' he said, his voice sultry as he strode towards her. Panicked, Hermione tried to find a way to escape his intentions, but he was too fast. An arm reached past her to lean on the desk, pinning her to the stone edge. The rough material of his robes brushed her right arm through the lace and she gulped at the proximity. His other hand caressed her left arm, fingers trailing hopefully against her skin. 'Why must you always go on such long business trips?' He asked, leaning forward. 'I'm so... happy, to see you again.' His body pressed against her right side, and she could feel how happy he was.

'Um...'

'Is this a new dress?' He moved his head closer to hers, the blonde hair brushing her shoulder. 'I like it.' Lucius leant forward to kiss her.

'Darling,' Hermione quickly ducked from his grasp, moving away from the desk and over to the fire. She placed herself behind the back of the armchair, using it as a kind of barrier against his advances. Lucius' hand clasped the air where she had been, disappointed.

'Are we playing a game?' He turned to her, intrigued.

'Why don't we take things a little slow?' She asked, trying to sound seductive as she patted the armchair suggestively. 'Why don't you have a drink, and tell me what you've been up to whilst I've been gone? I'll pour you a firewhiskey.'

Lucius was unsure of his wife's intentions, but acquiesced at the thought of a drink. He sat down in the armchair, flouncing his cloak out behind him. Hermione moved away from the chair slowly, her fingers running across the leather back. She found the alcohol in the bottom desk drawer, where Draco had kept it in his time. Eager, Lucius bewitched a tumbler from the other side of the room to fly across to the desk. He watched her from the chair as she poured out a generous measure, then presented it to him. She sat down opposite on the rug, despite his attempts to coax her onto his lap.

'Did Elspeth behave, while I was gone?' Hermione asked, straightening out the skirt of her dress against the floor.

'Of course.' He sipped his drink slowly. 'Why are you back early?'

'I missed you,' she quickly replied, hoping it would be excuse enough.

'You're thinking about quitting your job.'

'Would you like that?' She leant forward, resting on her hands. He smirked, the expression tainted with more cruelty than his son's, and finished his drink. Before he could speak, she had waved her wand and caused the tumbler to refill. The dark amber liquid seemed to glow in the firelight, casting strange shadows against Lucius' skin. Hermione tipped her face downwards and looked up at him, her fingers trailing across the shag rug. His eyes followed the movement hungrily. 'Do you remember when we met, darling?'

Lucius' eyes moved to the firewhiskey and he smiled. 'Of all the bars in all the towns, in all the world, I walked into yours.'

This was a surprise to Hermione. Journalism had saved her, in a manner, from the trauma of the battle. Yet in this reality, she hadn't gotten an internship at the Daily Prophet. Or had she? Maybe she was simply a patron at whatever bar he was referring to. Barwork wouldn't lead to the long business trips he hated her taking.

'Your dancing was hypnotic...'

 _No._

'I couldn't keep my eyes from you. You had the whole bar in rapture.'

 _No bloody way._

'When you got the snake out, the symbol of the Malfoy crest, I knew.' His finished the drink and moved his eyes up to her, the expression distant as her remembered her dancing days at The Wizard's Broom. 'I knew you were mine.' He chucked the glass into the flames and pushed himself up from the armchair. Startled, Hermione leant back away from him. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her upwards. Her feet tried to grasp for purchase at the floor but his grip tightened.

'I raised you up from the ashes of a previous life, Hermione, just you remember that.'

He released his grip, causing her to tumble back to the floor in a heap.


	17. Chapter 17

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming them as my own.

* * *

Hermione's admission of exotic dancing had been enough to allay Draco's jealousy. He hadn't laughed so hard in his life, once he had heard about Hermione's seedy past.

Scowling, she tapped her foot impatiently and waited for him to finish.

'So... so...' he managed to get out, in-between bouts of laughter. 'Tell me again about the... the snake...'

She didn't oblige and scowled harder at him. Finally, she snapped.

'It's not funny!' Hermione stamped her foot like a toddler, sending Draco further into a fit of giggles.

'Do you still have the outfits?' She rolled her eyes and turned her back on him, choosing to instead face the door of his room. The chamber was very much like the one she had been forced into, in her own reality, but with a bit more green. Lucius Malfoy was nothing if not faithful to his house colours. Draco managed to subdue his laughter by biting the inside of his cheek, and moved behind her. Trying to be sympathetic to her plight, he placed a hand on her shoulder to reassure her. It wasn't everyday you found out you were a stripper.

She turned to face him and he did his best to stop grinning, imagining her shows. From her acceptance of the gesture, he had managed to achieve some kind of sombre look. She pouted at him.

'This is ridiculous.'

'It's not real,' he shrugged. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, pulling Hermione gently along by the hand to stand in front of him.

'Did you figure out what we did wrong?' Draco grimaced and ran a hand over his head to neaten his hair.

'Well...'

'Draco?'

'We left Seamus' robe in the forest. You only returned Susan's, and let's face it, it was pretty knackered.'

Hermione frowned and looked away from him, thinking through the likelihood that something so simple might have caused such chaos.

With the hope of reassuring her further, he moved his hands down to hers and lifted them up to his chest. 'It's worth a try, right?'

'I suppose,' she shrugged glumly. Her expression began to soften as he moved his fingers from hers and up her arms. She winced slightly as they came into contact with the bruises on her wrist, making Draco pause. He lifted one arm up to examine a bruise which stretched across her skin like a bracelet.

'When did this happen?' Hermione frowned and pulled her arm from his grasp.

'Earlier. You were right about your father,' she added, trying to put on a brave face. 'I don't know what else I expected.'

'He hurt you?' Draco's look turned hard.

'Only a little,' she shrugged, trying to play down the encounter. 'Just what you see here.'

He began to seethe, his whole body overcome with anger at his father. It was one thing to abuse his son - Draco had put up with it for years, he was almost used to it in a way. He knew how to deal with these things. But Hermione? Not a chance.

'Draco,' she pleaded, placing a hand against his chest. 'We'll go back to the past and none of this well ever have happened, officially. It's not real.'

'Those bruises are real,' he argued, his eyes narrowing. 'Do you think he stopped there, with alternative-reality-you?'

'Alternative-reality-me isn't here,' Hermione replied. She was touched that he cared so highly about her alternative-self's wellbeing, even if the consideration wasn't completely logical. 'We don't know how she's dealing with it. Maybe she gives back as good as she gets.'

'No. No-one ever gets the upper-hand on my father.'

'Draco,' she whispered, her hands moving down to his hips. 'Alternative-me might not be on these business trips. She might even have a lover, who does treat her right. We don't know anything about this situation.' He didn't untense and Hermione leant forward, placing a kiss on his cheek. 'I'm touched you care so much about me, but we need to get our priorities sorted. Having it out with your father isn't necessary.'

* * *

'Daddy?' Elspeth asked, as Lucius picked her up from the small bed. The young child was still sleepy, yawning against his chest.

'Yes, Elspeth?' He replied, his hand reaching across to tickle her. She giggled, letting out a happy shriek.

'Who is that man?'

'The one you saw earlier?' Elspeth nodded, burrowing her head into his long blonde hair. 'That's your brother, Draco.'

The girl pouted, confused. Lucius set her back down on the bed and reached for her comb, so he might tackle the child's bed-head.

'But why was mummy kissing him?'

He paused, his hand gripping the metal comb.

'I'm sure she was just saying hello, darling, like this.' Lucius leant forward to kiss his daughter on the cheek and she giggled once more, brushing at the spot with her hands.

'No, daddy,' she replied sternly, shaking her head. 'Mummy was kissing him like you.'

'What did you see?' The sudden change in her father's tone caused tears to well up in Elspeth's eyes, as she assumed she had made him angry. 'Elspeth, what did you see?' He had no patience for the child's tears, which caused her to sob harder.

His grip on the comb increased until it snapped in his hand, a metal shard cutting open the palm. He pushed himself up from the bed, abandoning the crying child. A fire raged behind his eyes and he reached in his robes for his wand, angry.

'That witch!' He muttered under his breath, storming out of the room and into the main corridor. 'Betray me, will she? It'll be the last thing she ever does...'


	18. Chapter 18

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming them as my own.

* * *

The door of the guest room flung open, banging off the stone wall. Both herself and Draco jolted apart, him tipping from her grasp and over the side of the bed. Lucius stood in the doorway, one hand gripping his ebony wand. The anger emanated from him, his robes and hair fluttering in a breeze that Hermione didn't feel. She grasped about the top of the bed, searching for her velvet dress, but it was crumpled on the floor at the other side of the room. She would have to face her cuckolded husband in her underwear, and not even her best set.

Lucius Malfoy shot a curse at the four-poster bed, causing one of the posters to crack in two. It plummeted into the bed, penetrating the mattress inches away from Hermione's body. She scrambled away the damage, falling from the bed and onto the floor away from him. Draco was crouched behind one of the posts, quickly pulling his jeans on. She reached for his discarded silk shirt, slipping it over her shoulders as Lucius sent more curses around the room, shattering its furnishings. Draco extracted his wand from the jeans pocket. Hermione tentatively but rapidly lifted her hand up over the bed to reach across the bedside table for her own wand.

'Do you have the time-turner?' She whispered as her hands came into contact with the wood. A vase shattered above her hand, glass skittering down to bounce over them both. She pulled her hand back quickly, the wand reassuring in her grip.

'Get up, you coward! Steal my wife, will you?' Draco straightened, facing his father. He would not be called a coward by _him_. Draco pointed his wand threateningly at his father's chest.

'I didn't have to steal her,' he spat, 'she came to me because you're an abusive jerk!'

'You know nothing about how abusive I can be! Where is that filthy mudblood scum?'

'Hey!' Hermione now straightened, her own wand pointed out to match Draco's stance. The shirt barely skirted mid-thigh and gaped across her chest, the effect hardly intimidating. 'Nobody calls me a mudblood!'

'I should have known you'd develop claws,' Lucius sneered, ignoring his son to focus on his wife. He clearly didn't see him as a threat. 'You've been pathetic all your life. You begged me to take you away from that dive, don't you forget it. I should have put you down instead.'

Lucius changed his stance, moving his wand to strike the blow that might kill his wife.

'No!' Draco leapt forward instinctively, moving around the bed and tackling his father at the waist. The pair slammed into the wall, causing a portrait further along to fall from its place. The impact stunned Lucius, his head cracking against the stone. He slid down the wall into a slouched position. Draco tore at his father's hand to pull free his wand, then chucked it back to Hermione. She caught it agilely, moving from behind the bed.

Draco stood over his father, his wand pointed at Lucius' throat.

'You've pushed me around all my life,' Draco spat, his anger and resentment flowing free now that Lucius was the vulnerable party. 'There are no words which can describe what a disgusting sub-human being you are.'

'Are you going to kill me, Draco?' Lucius sneered, despite his position.

'You don't deserve that mercy. This is the last time you'll have any control over me, or Hermione.' He slammed his father's head back against the stone, knocking him out completely.

Draco turned back to Hermione and realised he was shaking, his breathing rapid. Hermione rushed forward, checking him over. There was a small cut just above his eyebrow, possibly from the glass or some chipped stone, but it wasn't bleeding heavily. When she had finished her examination, she leant forward, pressing her lips against his enthusiastically. He smiled weakly at her as she pulled away.

'Thank you, Draco.' He shrugged,

'I'd been meaning to do it for years.'

* * *

Elspeth had come out of her room as Draco and Hermione passed, on their way down to the dungeons. Hermione had managed to persuade the child to return back to her bed while Draco had watched the proceedings silently. The rest of their journey to the vanishing cabinet had been uneventful, with Draco's father still lying unconscious in the guest bedroom. It was almost second nature as Hermione climbed into the cupboard. Draco extracted the time turner from his pocket and handed it to her, letting her lift it over her own head first. He let her place the chain over his neck, then closed the door on the screwed-up reality.

* * *

Hermione had managed to acquire two new sets of robes from a communal store within the castle, and had left those in place of the ones they had stolen from the amorous Susan and Seamus. She couldn't be sure if it would work, but they had no option but to try and see whether the action would bring them back to their true future.

The pair span forward with the time-turner for what Hermione hoped would be the last time, Draco's arms around her waist in an effort to alleviate his nausea. When the spinning ceased, neither one seemed willing to open the cupboard and reveal the reality they'd arrived at. They simply held one another in the darkness, hopeful. Finally, with a sigh, Draco released her and opened the cupboard door. 'Third time's a charm,' he suggested, climbing out into the store room. He held a hand out to help her down onto the cold floor.

'This seems OK,' she said, glancing around the room. It was cluttered and dusty, with the Malfoy family portraits wedged in-between the wall and the vanishing cabinet. Draco pointed at the floor near the door, where a few glass shards glittered in the light.

'That seems promising.'

Hermione nodded, glancing down at her bare feet. Both her and Draco were in the same predicament. Smiling, he swept her off her feet and into a fireman's hold.

'Don't worry, I got you,' he said cheerfully. He carried her across the threshold, boldly taking the risk of stepping on a piece of glass from her. He set her down outside the room with a characteristic smirk. She paused, staring up at him.

If they were back to their own reality, what now? What did it mean for her and Draco's relationship?

'Don't you want to check on Susan?' He suggested, breaking her concern.

'Oh, yes!' Worried about her best-friend, and wanting to prove her theory about how she ended up at The Wizard's Broom, she ran from Draco eagerly. Her feet barely touched the dungeon steps as she moved up into the familiar corridor. Her eyes glanced at the open door of the study as she jogged past, recognising the mahogany-and-red décor that she had found so comforting. _This certainly is promising_ , she told herself, running up the stairs to reach the first floor.

Susan's door was shut but not locked and Hermione barged in without knocking.

The ginger witch was jolted awake and fumbled at her eye-mask. _She's here!_ Hermione thought, ecstatic. She ran to the opposite end of the room, ripping open the curtains. _We're in the valley!_ The view was all countryside, bleak and cold and brilliant.

'What's going on?' Susan winced as the morning sunlight poured in, and stifled a yawn. 'Did I miss something?'

Grinning, Hermione leapt onto the edge of the bed, the force causing Susan to bounce from the mattress surface. 'You have no idea,' Hermione replied.


	19. Chapter 19

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming them as my own.

* * *

Susan had listened to Hermione's story only vaguely, still being half-asleep. She was fairly sure that Hermione had just had a bizarre, vivid dream. As she paused in her retelling, Susan held up a hand for silence.

'So where is this time-turner then, if they were all destroyed?'

'Well...' Hermione frowned. 'It just sort of dissolved into the ether. It had been too long out of it's own reality.'

'Aha,' Susan nodded. Hermione had _definitely_ been dreaming this entire debacle. Susan was certain she had existed the entire time she'd slept, instead of Hermione's perceived course of events where she'd been dead for the last ten years. _Still, Hermione seems pretty happy about the dream..._ who was she to spoil her friend's fun?

'Oh, Susan, that reminds me. I have a question for you.' Susan yawned and leant back against the pillows of her bed.

'As long as it's not too taxing for this time of the morning.'

'Did you used to sneak off to the room of requirement with Seamus Finnigan?'

Susan jolted upright, narrowing her eyes at Hermione.

'I knew I saw you that one time! How come you never said anything before?'

Hermione's pulse raced, realising her theory might have some standing.

'Did you help me get that internship at the Daily Prophet?' Susan suddenly looked slightly uncomfortable.

'You got in on your talent.' She shrugged, 'I may have said a few good words about you as well, but I'm pretty sure it was your talent. Mostly. Maybe 60:40.'

Hermione grinned and hugged Susan enthusiastically.

'Thank you. You've no idea how much that internship meant to me.' The real meaning behind her words was unspoken - if Susan hadn't aided her at the newspaper, Hermione would have ended up as a stripper. A stripper who'd be forced to marry to the loathsome Lucius Malfoy, of all people.

'Think nothing of it,' Susan replied, feeling slightly awkward. She smiled as Hermione released her. 'So, you've found yourself another writer. That's a nice twist of fate.'

'Writer?' Hermione frowned. _What is she talking about?_

'Yeah, you know. Draco's books.'

'His books.'

'Yeah,' Susan repeated, wondering whether Hermione's dream might have knocked her brain out of focus. 'D. M. Granger.'

'Draco is D. M. Granger?' Susan nodded and Hermione felt herself pale.

'Are you OK?' Susan asked, concerned. Hermione brushed her friend's worry off.

'Um, yes. I just need to go get dressed.' She climbed free from the bed and Susan smirked.

'Yeah, I'd imagine that shirt isn't professional enough for today's interview.'

* * *

Hermione had found the lace-and-velvet dress back in her wardrobe, as if it had never been removed in the first place. She slipped out of Draco's shirt and pulled the dress back on, then made a rough attempt to neaten her hair by tying it back in a fresh braid.

She crept down the stairs, wondering where Draco might be in the house. She hadn't yet encountered the master-suite, and had no idea where he might have disappeared to. Her news was bad. They clearly had returned to a reality which was close, but not identical to their own. Now the joke would be on Draco, this future having him set in the career of chick-lit writer, the genius behind ' _The Pirate's Booty'_ and other semi-erotic stories.

She wondered how he would take the news that they had failed, yet again.

* * *

She found him in the dining hall. He was sat at the top of the table, a roughly-woven blanket over his bare shoulders, sipping a cup of coffee. He glanced up as Hermione entered the room and smiled. 'Want a cup? Mibby's got a pot on.'

She was partly distracted by the tempting display of chest the blanket gave her, and shook her head at the offer of coffee. 'We've got a problem.'

'Susan's not here?' He set down his cup, looking seriously at her.

'No, she is. She was asleep and has no clue what's been going on.'

'That's ok then,' he exhaled with relief.

'But this isn't our reality,' Hermione moved closer until she reached the table, her fingers skirting the smooth table-top. Pensive, Draco frowned at her and reached for his cup again.

'Why do you say that?' He took a large gulp of the dark liquid.

'Susan says you're D. M. Granger, the chick-lit author.' Draco choked on his coffee, spilling the cup. The hot liquid splashed onto his jeans and he leapt up from his seat, his hands batting at his crotch to alleviate the burning sensation. Hermione watched the display in awe.

Grimacing, Draco glanced up at her. He tightened his hold on the blanket, moving it closer around his bare chest.

'Well, yeah. That is me.'

'You write chick-lit?'

'... Yeah.'

'You _write_ erotic chick-lit?'

'Yes,' he scowled. 'You don't have to be so high-and-mighty about it. I have as many readers as you do.'

'Right.'

'It's a skill, you know. It requires just as much, if not more thought than your articles.'

Hermione couldn't help herself and broke out into a grin. 'Wow.'

Draco rolled his eyes and sat back down, sulking. 'I thought you already knew, when I found you in the study with them.'

'I thought you just liked to read them,' she replied, embarrassed.

'I'm hardly the target demographic.' She raised an eyebrow at this and he smiled weakly. 'OK, I guess I deserved that.'

'So... this is our own reality.'

'I've not seen anything to the contrary... yet,' he moved the cup back into an upright position, its contents lost.


	20. Chapter 20

The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming them as my own.

* * *

Mibby suddenly ran into the dining room, the poor elf panting from the exertion. 'Master, master!' Concerned, Draco glanced down at the elf.

'Calm down, Mibby, what's wrong?'

'There's a witch trying to overcome the wards on the grounds!' Draco frowned and shook off the blanket.

'I'll see to it, Mibby.' He reached for his wand then shot an enquiring look at Hermione. She smiled,

'Sure, I'll come.'

* * *

The pair were unsure what they were walking into, as they moved down the gravel path towards the front gate. The sun had risen higher in the sky, alleviating the gloominess of the grounds and its overgrown topiary bushes. In this new light, the place seemed almost magical to Hermione. It was a strong contrast to her feelings the evening she had arrived with Susan.

A figure on a broomstick had been flitting about above them as they walked towards the gates, and dropped lower to face them through the iron bars. Hermione had been surprised to recognise an angry Sandra from Accounting as the attempted-intruder. The witch's normal blonde curls were a frizzy mess, and her usually pristine make-up even worse. Her red lipstick was smudged against her cheek, her eyes circled with wet mascara.

'You!' Sandra shrieked. She fired a curse at the gate, hoping to hit Hermione, but the wards protected them. The curse instead rebounded, the force pushing Sandra away on the brookstick. She manoeuvred herself back towards the gates, her pink dress-suit scorched around the edges. 'I can't believe you reported me and Ben to HR!

Hermione's eyes widened and Draco sighed, burying his hands in his pockets.

'I guess you were right. Alternative reality yet again.' Hermione was not forthcoming with a response and he glanced at her, curious. She bit her lip and shrugged.

'What?' Her eyes moved back to Sandra, her response for the benefit of both parties. 'That is not what the office supplies cupboard is for, Sandra!'

'He's my fiancé!' Sandra screamed through the bars, lowering herself enough that her feet touched the ground. She'd lost one of the patent-pink pumps in her flight to Malfoy Manor.

'I needed a stapler,' Hermione replied, matter-of-factly. Draco rolled his eyes.

'Is there anyone you haven't annoyed today?' His question was joking and Hermione smirked back at him. _Fair enough_. In that one night, Hermione had irritated two Dracos, his deceased father and Ginny. He had overcome his anger at Hermione's carelessness with the cursed glass after the fun they'd had in solving the problem, and in angering Lucius, she had also provided him an opportunity to finally face his father once more. Ginny? Well, he didn't really care about her.

'Disciplinary action!' Sandra managed to get out, in-between shrieks. She continued a stream of unintelligible noises, frustrated at being unable to break the wards. Draco moved an arm around Hermione's shoulder, turning them away from Sandra and back towards the house.

'I don't know about you,' he offered, when Sandra's outbursts had faded into the distance, 'but I'm really looking forward to climbing into my bed.' He smiled and glanced sideways at her. 'How about we put off that interview till tomorrow?'

'No need,' Hermione replied, also smiling. 'I think I might quit journalism.'

'Oh?'

'Yes. It's far too dangerous.'

They chuckled to themselves as Draco led her up the stone steps and into the Manor house.

THE END

* * *

Author's note: What can I say... time-travel is a huge PITA, and I do not recommend it for anyone! There are various bits in this story where I think it lags because I had to be at least semi-plausible with the time travel aspect, and even then, there are plenty of holes. Still, I hope you enjoyed it!

This was my last planned story for this arc, although I do fully intend to do other Dramione stories, most likely one offs which are completely independent of these. I'll be taking another (most likely short) break before starting something new.

So - what did you enjoy/hate? Please leave a review/pm!


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